You're Wearing My Hoodie
by disillusionist9
Summary: Draco is left to search for something to throw on in the morning, and happens to grab one of Harry's sweater. ONESHOT requested on tumblr by m1sc1efmanaged, fluff, no smut, rated for suggestive language.


[a/n] Originally posted on tumblr August 11th, 2016 as a prompt from **m1sc1efmanaged** , her question was " _Okay but Draco finding Harry's hoodie from Prisoners of Azkaban. Not knowing what it is so he puts it on and goes to find Harry; who's voice is in his throat realizing its his hoodie."_ and lovingly Brit-picked by **padaleckipatronus**.

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Draco curled tighter under the covers, relishing in the warmth of shared body heat after hours beneath a thick quilt, until he realized he was alone. Sunlight drifted lazily between the cracks in the curtains and shone on his face; or rather, where his face would be if it weren't still submerged in cotton and down feathers. As he stretched he made sure not a hint of the crisp air outside of his cocoon could strike even the edge of a toenail.

The very tip of his wand poked beneath the dark blue blanket and moved in time with muffled spells. Sliding along the floor instead of flying at him full speed, Draco's jeans and slippers crawled beneath the covers with him.

He hissed as the clothes warmed to his temperature, and cursed when he realized Harry must have taken his shirt when he left the room, since it wasn't included in the pile he'd summoned.

"Fantastic," he grumbled.

He counted backwards from ten - three times - and spent several minutes debating his own good reason before he decided to drag the blankets behind him until he could find suitable attire. Pulled over his head, the susurrus of the sheets dragging on the carpet echoed in his ears.

"Damn you, Potter," he griped once he saw the windows allowing sunshine in were _also_ cracked open, quiet bursts of biting November air slipping into the bedroom. Without leaving his relative safety, he flicked his wand to firmly shut the windows.

"You awake?" Harry called from the other room, the sound of the windows loud enough to carry out into the hallway of the flat. "I've got coffee made, and croissants from next door if you're hungry."

Draco's stomach grumbled to let him know, yes, he was definitely hungry for freshly prepared, likely still warm croissants. He hastily charmed the covers back onto the bed, each layer landing neatly and tucking itself in as the pillows fluffed themselves, and grabbed the first warm thing he could find to throw on over his bare chest.

"I swear, Potter, if you only got cherry flavored spread this time I'll steal all of the butter," Draco said, eyes set firmly on the brown paper bag on Harry's kitchen table. A few darker spots were blooming from the corners of the flaky croissants greasing the edges of the paper. He smirked, turning his hungry gaze from the food to his boyfriend, losing none of the intensity. But Harry's stare gave him pause, and the rakish grin slid from his lips, replaced with concern. "Harry, you alright?"

"Mmhmm," Harry replied, choked and decidedly _not_ fine. He wouldn't meet Draco's gaze, his eyes locked on his chest.

Draco stepped forward, taking Harry's chin in his palm, the coarse beard wrapping Harry's chin and mouth rough against the soft skin. Forcing Harry to look at him, Draco searched the shorter man's face for signs of one of the post-war episodes or other backlash. He kept his voice low and soft, fighting the urge to perform a low level of legilimency on him. "Are you with me, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry replied, blinking rapidly, as if he'd burst out of a pool of memory. "You're, um, wearing my hoodie."

"That so?" The arms not quite reaching his wrists and the torn neck should have been his first clue, and the thick scent of Harry in his nostrils the second. Draco noticed the pocket in the front for the first time and experimentally put his hand in it, unaccustomed to muggle casual styles, even after living around Harry and his decidedly lax fashion taste for four months.

Looking up, sure his hair was standing up straight in a style to rival his boyfriend's signature look after the static electricity from the hoodie, Draco smirked and leaned over to steal a quick kiss. "Looks good on me, I think,."

Taking advantage of Draco's momentum, Harry stuffed his hands into the hoodie pocket as well, grabbing Draco's hands. He would firmly deny it later, but Draco squealed at the feeling of Harry's chapped, cold fingers around his own, still oversensitive to temperature. The sound was muffled, swallowed by Harry as he deepened the kiss, the swell of heat lasting only a few moments as they calmed to a few languid caresses, promising more.

"I'd like to take it off you later, though," Harry said, nuzzling his nose into Draco's neck.

Even with their relationship a fledgling and untested thing, Draco knew Harry well enough to recognize he was hiding a monstrous blush at his own forwardness. He rewarded the still-shy man with a quick nibble to his earlobe.

"After tea and croissants," Draco promised, letting his voice reverberate just over the spot on his neck he knew set Harry's eyes back into his head. "And I wasn't kidding about the spread; I can't see how one man can ingest so much cherry jam."

Harry grinned, his cheeks bright pink and goosebumps painted on his neck as he pulled up the hood on the hoodie to further muss up Draco's hair in playful retaliation. Although, he did a good enough job of that himself after the only thing remaining of their breakfast were crumbs and smears of orange marmalade.


End file.
